Earned it.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

If I ever lamented about not starting to play WoW back in
Vanilla, or Burning Crusade, no more. In fact, ye experienced players may want
to check your envy of moi. Take last
night for example. Young Druid wants to go into Black Temple. The epic battle
between Illidan is truly between him and his inner demons, but that is a story
you are all familiar with, but I still have some research to do.

I love the Black Temple. It is darkly foreboding, rich,
and subtly unnerving. And—please don’t laugh—the Reliquary of Souls—is
masterful. I have yet to conquer Desire with less than four players. And these
players are no slouches. But Desire has overcome us more than once. We need to
wake up sleepyheads for a fourth every time. Last night we had five, so it was
easy to overcome Desire (but not as challenging). She is the one, the ultimate
villain in my estimation, spinning us around, making us silent, devastated, and
helpless. Desire does that. Just ask Buddha. (And I don’t care what wowwiki
says, “All spells used by EoD can be interrupted, reflected or spell stolen." Desire is one mean sin.

Now, yesterday, these really intriguing shoulders
dropped, and I regretted for a moment not bringing Miss Matty-Shaman-Mail-Pants.
These shoulders have two big-googly eyeballs on them! Eyeballs! Googly
eyeballs! That is so cool! But alas, Zeptepi Cloth-Butt was there, healing and trying
to keep up, because there were so many shiny-pretty things everywhere. Young
Druid is not interested in picking up loose change off of the ground.

During the Illidari Council portion, shoulder tokens
dropped. I almost, almost didn’t pick them up. The passing glance, and full
bags, considering that the chest piece was kind of plain, made me think that
the shoulders would also be plain too, I guess.

But, I did turn back, and grab the token, and I am glad I
did. Lady Fortuna and Justitia, my gratitude, for I believe this mantle is
exquisitely designed:

The blind justice sees only the truth, weighted scales on her shoulders, Zeptepi’s insecurity waivered with heat. She was no judge, she was sent to heal all, indiscriminately, no matter their sins. But perhaps, if she could lighten the path, the burden, truth-seekers would find solace.

Perhaps I almost passed it up because when I acquired the
chest piece, the other pieces seemed formal but plain. If only I had taken a
closer look, but then…perhaps…I would have been filled with desire, and the
token would have been snatched from my grasp, because as we all know, the
Random Number Gods like to have their fun, too.

Desire seemed to be going around that run, too. A Death
Knight, some sell-sword off the street, bragged that he could run all of Black
Temple in Blood. He boasted of weapons owned, and status gained. But, he
repeatedly needed on all gems, and weapons, until the Druid leader had had
enough. “Give the mace to the paladin,” and he reluctantly obliged, but not
without a litany of rationalizations. I missed this whole drama in raid chat,
and only found out until later in the evening, long after the run was over, the
Druid had to kick young errant Death Knight, citing, “Bad sportsmanship and
lying.” Misdeamors in most regions, but
punishable by expulsion in transmog runs, and don’t you forget it.

Stupid me: I noticed he wasn’t there for the
Illidan-smack-down, but didn’t ask, I just assumed he had to go. The moral of
that story is don’t mess with righteous young Druids. You break the law, you
will serve your time.

Now, the blue mace dropped, and I had wanted it to match
the blue theme on Zep. Druid wanted it too, so I weighed out the cost-benefit
analysis of giving the mace to the Druid, and determined this would be the
better way to go, for my own reasons. Besides, he informed me that there was a
similar one in Netherstorm from the Honor Point vendor. I had not idea this vendor was
there (hearken back to I never played in Outlands that much and it’s like a
whole new world). Sure enough, one quick battleground victory later, and the
mace was mine. It’s black, not blue, but that’s all right. It goes with my
outfit, too.

Back to the benefits of rediscovering Outlands: Zep is
currently gathering her red hat, shoes, and goggles to go with her new red
mace. She’s going for a whole Melisandre look:

I am sure Matty did most of
these, helping out the space goblins in Netherstorm, because one does not
forget easily the smell memory of cold electric crystals and burnt mana. Cen
recently obtained those funky shoes, but will continue for a few more things,
too. I feel like I'm a little girl again, playing with my mom's old prom dresses and ball gowns. You just never know what treasures you'll find!

I am in a position to encourage writers, of all ages. I have never had a book published (yet--dream #28), and to those of you who look at any reason not to write, all I can tell you is get over yourself. So, because of someone's readership numbers, are you telling me because Neil Gaiman has sold more books than I have, I shouldn't write? Because Stephen King hacks out an awesome novel that still gives me chills to think about (The Shining), I shouldn't think of my own scary stories? If you have something to say, say it, dammit, let the critics be damned. What I suspect is that most creative souls are their own worst critics. If I seriously stopped for one second and let someone like a Stephanie Myers get me down, then all would be lost. If anything, I am going to write those novels as an antidote to the Twilight series. Haters be hating, and I hate those books. Okay. Except for Team Jacob. Okay. Okay. I submit. And she did capture virgin-lust-painful-teenage-longing well. Okay. Whatever.

The Internet has brought me a place to freely express myself. I can make mistakes, write, whine, laugh, and imagine all I want. It is my sandbox, and though once in a while there is some neighborhood cat poop, for the most part, it is damn fun.

I may never publish anything. I may never create a masterpiece like To Kill A Mockingbird, or East of Eden. But I write, and it saves my sanity. It's my sanity, and I'm sticking to it. My numbers? Currently over 17,000. Many of those were looking for Beavis and Butthead, and some Big Bird, but some were looking for me, and my stories. If it were 1,000 or just 1, it doesn't matter. We found each other, and that's what counts.

For some time now, this series on 'archetypes' has been rumbling around my brain. Anything, dear readers, you would like to contribute or mention, please do so. Most of this is based on sheer, uneducated opinion. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, indeed.

For those of you who were drawn to create a Worgen, you may be disappointed to know that is only one aspect of the archetypal wolf. The worgen/werewolf has its own rich lore, chock full of conflicted, deep emotions between our higher-reaching goals toward spiritual goodness and our baser feelings closer to nature.

But the Wolf, no, not a lot of internal conflict there.

Consider the Tex Avery cartoon, Wolves are all libido and "haaa-ruuuuug'gaaa!"

When you're around a wolf, you may feel both drawn ("I can change this bad boy") and repelled or afraid ("Nothing in this basket, no sir, Mr. What-Big-Eyes-You-Have").

The Wolf represents the id, the dark side of our natures, the beast within, but contrasting to a werewolf/worgen, there is little available redemption to the true Wolf. In nature, it is well-known that wolves are loyal pack animals, mate for life, but we humans have anthropomorphically destroyed this positive image with our own fears. We do that a lot, we humans. But, knowing the pack mentality can also guard one against some human foibles. Consider the alpha/guildmaster. If he or she is leading a guild as a team, aka Alpha 1 and Alpha 2, sometimes the rest of the pack may be confused about who to submit to and show their metaphorical bellies. Good leadership is just that: fair, transparent, and strong. Everyone needs to know they'll get their share of the downed elk in good time.

But this isn't about the pack: it is about the lone wolf, the wolf in sheep's clothing, the huff-puff-blow-your-house-down-and-eat-your-grandmas-wolf. This wolf looks at Little Red like she's a breakfast buffet.

Beware of the wolves, little girls. There are a few out there. If you show them what's in your goody basket blindly, without knowledge, in all likelihood you will get eaten up.

Is this a Worgen transformation I'm sensing? A trick of fuzzy meaning and duplicity? In any case, I am entranced. Modifying this to riding togs, complete with a lady's English side-saddle and hoop skirt would be amazing. Would that only the Worgen mounts were more interesting...

Coincidentally, I had been thinking of re-watching several "magician" themed movies:

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Zep packed up a few things before her move, just down the
lane, and saw to it that she left Ceniza in charge of the guild. This was a big
responsibility, but she knew Cen would return the reign of the realm to Zep
when the time came.

A dear friend, another mage, all blue and periwinkle in
tricks, gave her a fortune card before she left. He flicked it, appearing one
second and conjuring out of magical air the next, tossing it near her bags. He
never missed, but today his aim was slightly off, and it nicked her hand.
“Ouch,” she said as she picked it up, reading: “The Truth is in the Trick.” Odd
fortune, but that was the way of double-speak silliness and mojo. The mage just
laughed, kissed her hand, and vanished, porting away in a blink.

After he left, and was gods-knew-where, she checked the
guild bank.

It was nearly emptied out, save for a few robes and
maelstrom crystals.

Zep closed the vault door, took a deep breath, and opened it
again. Still nothing. Wondering, was he planning a surprise for her? Did he clean it out as a favor? It was getting incredibly messy and unorganized. She was so
sure of him, so trusting, that even though her eyes told her that all was gone,
she did not, could not accuse him. But the most upsetting of all was the
Dark Moon Faire trinkets were kept there, waiting impatiently for the next full
moon, just around the corner of hills of bones and brew, and those were all gone. Zep wasn’t sure he
knew the value of those items, and if he had vended them, it would be a
terrible setback. (Though agreeably they were overvalued.)

What did he do with all those things?

He was a tricky mage, full of one-there-yes and one-minute-no, but never in all the years had any of his surprises or jests hurt her; they
were delightful, and made her laugh.

But, what…where…

Maybe...

...there was some fur stuck in the lock.

The timing of his deed, this suspicion, whether a prank or
pawn, was either very well played or an unintended coincidence. At this hour,
she could only send him a letter, and wait a full day before possibly even
seeing him again to find out what had happened. She would have to be patient: she had no control over the time when all of Azeroth slept,
swathed in a dragon’s blanket, while possibly the gnomes and goblins tinkered
and tampered, cleaned and greased the jiggling cogs and sputtering sprockets,
for a new afternoon sun.

Again, growing more anxious, she wondered, "Where could everything be?"

Nothing in the auction house, nothing in the bank, nothing
in the mail: almost everything was gone. Spider webs, fabrics, bolts of it,
herbs, potions, dust and crystals, gems, and the Dark Moon Faire fair, nothing
left but a copy of the Wildhammer Book of
Verse: “A collection of the filthiest limericks you’ve ever laid eyes on,”
and a robe or two.

But more importantly, where was he?

As soon as the magical hour shone, the veil was lifted, and
nothing but a whiff of goblin elbow grease and pit-stains hung in the air, and
all the working and machinations of Azeroth were running on smooth rails again,
like the perfect schedule of a well-tuned Ironforge tram, could she run back to
see if anything had changed.

The bank was full again, just as she had left it. Not a
thread, nor a petal out of place. Everything was back, from the graveyard moss
to the rhino meat, every last thing.

But it all smelled faintly of fish and rats.

His cat.

His damn cat.

And there was a smell of sulfur, too. She would have to have a chat with Cen.

Long story short: my mage friend has been playing tricks on me. "Zep" recently wrote him a letter, and dashed into Dalaran during a break today to check on some things. Drinking some of the Potion of Illusion he made for "her," she changed into this:

Zep tries on this glamor for a bit...

Now, what is spooky is I have been thinking about going back to Night Elf priest on Zep for some time, and changing Ceniza back to a Draenei. I have this dress, and now I know how beautiful it looks on an Elf. It is like that potion read my mind.

Now, as far as the tricks and pranks go--that is a story for another day.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

The only one who has turned my bad attitude around about Blood Elf females is Cyrme from Bubbles of Mischief. Her girls don't seem as aloof or bored as many of the others I've encountered. Her screenshots are exquisite, with a keen sense of staging and creative costuming, and her excellent writing make for a top-notch blog. When I go into my California Valley-girl accent (of which I can do a mean one), it is not for the lovely, graceful Blood Elves of Cyrme's world.

That is my sincere disclaimer.

But Cyrme - please understand that I still go to a dark, dark place when I think about Blood Elf females: high school. Anthropomorphically, I am a Draenei: Tall, clunky hooves, and kind of dorky.

Today, though, for a few moments, I got to see how the other half lives:

An unknown female Dwarf was recently identified as one "Ironskillet" of Dun Morogh. From all reports, she was a stalwart little paladin, prone to moments of prudishness and dire stupidity. Apparently she was on a mission to use the Viewpoint Equalizer and had successfully shrank five Frostmane Trolls, and defeated their leader, Bartok the Beserker, when she was overcome by greed and stopped to look in a nearby chest for booty and swag. Two Frostmane Trolls attacked her, and unfortunately, her Stoneform was on cooldown. "She tried to run," reported one Mac McGunnystuff, a local Dwarf rifleman, "but, aye, with those squat legs of hers, she couldn'a run too fast." No charges have been brought against the Trolls, as they reported it was in self-defense, and local witnesses confirmed.

She is survived by her Bind-On-Account pet, Gryphon Hatchling.

Skillet grabs a few handfuls of graveyard dirt for luck and protection...

Too scared to try to kill this silver yeti...

Talk about foreshadowing...

DAMMIT!

*heartbreak*

Yes, yes I do.

Not sure I'm cut out for this. I now have to go and clean out her bags, etc. and put her to rest. I asked those around me to give me a moment to myself. Skillet, we hardly knew ya. Next time I'm going with a long-legged Draenei or lithe Elf.

But seriously -- I don't really know if I can handle this emotional trauma. It made me way too cautious to have any fun at all. I love all the parameters of this but that one. But, hey, no more looking in chests. Should have made a clean get-away.

*Postscript: I must admit though, for the first time in a while, I felt that inner "gasp" that I felt when I first started playing. Going to try it again.

Friday, February 24, 2012

I figured out the magic touch for capturing those Aether Rays: gentle windshear, turn on my Lightning Shield, ray goes down to about 26% health, ready to be wrangled. Didn't kill a single one today. Maybe the lumps of sugar in my pocket didn't hurt either.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

One thing you have all probably figured out about me is I am pretty darn good to myself. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I have plans on a walk, reading, and of course, some time in Azeroth. There is another story or two I want to get started on, but can't seem to find the right mix of mental ingredients. In the meantime - here's to Miss Matty -- the ultimate alter-ego: forever young, and forever sweet. I may not be as young as Matty, but I hope I am sweet enough. (It's Girl Scout Cookie month, too, on top of Valentine's and birthday cherry cupcakes. Too much sweetness going around. Maybe two walks are in order!)

So - three wishes for you all:
*Hope you have love
*Hope you have work that is worthwhile, whether it's your actual job, or an avocation you enjoy
*Hope you have peace, and a really good book to read

“It's bloody cold here,” Skillet thought. The other Dwarfs, all males as
far as she could tell, seemed to relish the perpetual nip in the air. “Aye, as
soon as I can, I’m takin’ myself to warmer climes, and enough of this nonsense.”
No one seemed to notice how close she sat next to the fire. If nothing else,
the Dwarfs knew how to keep the ale flowing, and the fires stoked. A log
snapped in pyrotechnic protest. She brushed a cinder off of her sleeve, and
moved a bit further back, hearing a loud, cheery laugh from the innkeeper.

(Hearing of this is, in point of fact, how I met our Darling Ms. Tome of the Ancient. That's a win-win for us all!)

Get from level 1-85 using the rules below.

Ironman Challenge Rules

1. All gear employed must be White or Grey. Also, no Heirlooms of any sort.2. No transfer of gear, items or money from any other character (yours or others)3. No gear enhancement(s), thus no Socket Gems, Enchanting or Reforging. Exceptions exist for class abilities. (example: Rogue poisons)4. No specializations, talent points, or glyphs. This restriction also applies to talent points for pets.5. No professions or secondary skills. An exception is made for First Aid.6. No potions/flasks/elixirs (except those labeled as Quest Items)7. No food buffs or other external buffs (this includes buffs from items and other players).8. No grouping or assistance from other characters, even if not grouped.9. No dungeons/raids. No battlegrounds/arenas.10. No guilds. An exception is made for Ironman guilds (no perks)11. No Refer-A- Friend activities. The intention of the challenge is that it be done without assistance.12. No add-ons that assist in combat (try to challenge yourself and do the most with the least).13. THE BIG ONE: No deaths. Character death for any reason disqualifies the character.

Permitted:- All mounts- All bags/containers- All quests (including holiday and daily quests)

So, introducing:

Ironskillet, Paladin-in-Training

I was going to try to come up with a twist, but thought to myself, you know, Matty, for once, just follow the damn rules. It's the Dwarf thing to do.

My technical question is this: because I have BOA pets on my account, if she opens up her mail, she will automatically get points for a pet. Is this okay?

I am almost out the door. It's raining. My truck hates rain. My hair looks great. It won't be after walking from parking lot to workplace (we don't believe in umbrellas in the Northwest). I'm not made of sugar, nor am I a fragile little flower.

But, oh, for about five minutes this morning, my virtual self ran around green grass, sparkling lakes, magical dragon-fairy-flies, pounding down rocks like they were made of sawdust, and running with buff-looking elves.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

I was thinking about Big Bear during this evening's LFR run many, many times. My load-in screen is sometimes excrutiantingly slow, so I didn't even hit the meters until well into the second or third trash mob; then, got disconnected right before the Warlord fight, and guess what? When I connected again, I dropped RIGHT ON TOP OF HIM, died, and released, ran back--and the most shocking thing of all: NO ONE KICKED ME. No one said one thing. Ran back, got to a top damage spot, and a tricky mage played a joke on us all, and put a port to Theramore in front of the port to Hagara, and I fell right into it! Teleported back to party, got into the fight, all was well. Someone told them that was a good one. And it was. Record kill, got some gloves for my set, and all was well. A good time was had by one and all.

But gee, if the wolves had been released based on my activity at the beginning of that fight, I wouldn't have lasted another second. Those wolves would have been after me quicker than you can say, "She has cheeseburgers in her shirt."

I know it's not, but I swear, the first time I heard the voice over during the Wyrmrest Temple I thought it was odd they chose an R. Lee Ermey- sound alike. What was the kind of gruff, army sergeant voice doing commanding orders around rock things and dragons?

Monday, February 20, 2012

Okay, okay, so the care and nurturing of woodland critters may not be my thing. I'm trying to get the ray mounts from the Sha'tari Skyguards and just started those dailies. The Ogres in Ogri'La seem to like me, and the efficient but somewhat superfluous Skyguard has me marching double-time. They've asked Little Miss Flame Shock to gather five of the rays per day. Seems simple enough, except for the fact that at my level/gear they are basically made of wet toilet paper. I have tried everything. Tonight I ended up killing about eight or nine to get my five. Some wildlife conservationist, huh? Hitting them with a windshear to get their attention seems to work, and if that doesn't hold them, dropping an earthbind totem.

Dammit, killed another one...

Finally. Nine to Five Ratio.

I think my only other option may be to leave my gear behind and run around Blade's Edge au naturel. Bet the ogres would like it.

I am just now "friendly" with them. Going to be a long grind, my friends, and it's sunny out there. Better stock up on sunscreen.

Logistics: I want you to keep your identity safe, so don't send me anything with your real name on it. If you blog, put your mog on your blog, link it to this post, and I will gather them up for the final voting posting. Only need the character's name, don't need server, and what they are wearing, and what category you want them submitted for. Just have fun. Don't get all toddlers and tiaras over this.

And, I am going to try to bullet-point all I know about motivation. My data comes from years of observations of a demographic that is possibly the most conflicted populace of intrinsic versus extrinsic subjects a scientist could hope to find. Here are my thoughts:

Myth:

There is a myth of motivation. Many of us who are in charge of motivating others (work, school, or home) find this out the hard way: No one can give someone else intrinsic motivation.

Depletion:

However, we can take away motivation. Consider motivation like a tiny, precious amount of fresh water. You need it to live, and to grow. Some of us have vast reserves of this fresh water, an aquifer of it, and draw on it when we need. However, some live in a motivational desert. And if we are negative, shaming, or discouraging, we evaporate that motivation in a flash. It can be very fragile. This comes in the disguise of self-esteem and questionable modeling.

Intrinsic versus Extrinsic:

Extrinsic motivation works, but temporarily. Those who are already motivated appreciate the perks, but often do not seek out the "extras." The idea of teacher bonuses related to children's test scores is a horrible, horrible idea. It will make the bad teachers worse, and the good ones despair further. This is why corporate bonuses for gutting business (looking at you, Mitt) are a horrible idea. This is why paying a kid allowance for doing what he should be doing anyway to make the home run smoother is a bad idea. Go out and plow the back forty, punk. Nothing like "you don't grow it, you don't eat" to movitate someone.

Right now things are falling down around my ears. Dishwasher broke, trees from the storm are still hanging, cracked and broken, all over the place, there is still a dead bird that hit the door waiting to be buried (I hid it under a box: not so good at the scooping up of dead things), and the kitchen sink is still in disrepair. I have some carrots, and I have some sticks. And I know how to use them both.

But there are cookies to bake, and milk to drink, and walks to take, a new Simpsons' episode, homemade pizza to make, and then maybe some old raids and achievements still yet to be gained.

To those of you in LFR who are sitting on your tail on purpose, please stop. For those of you who are contributing little to LFR because you're completely befuddled and not sure what to do, I feel your pain. For those of you who are doing a great job but being an asshat while doing so, to you I say, "Shame on you." You are no hero, of no moral character, and are a horrible human being. Yes, total judgment on my part. "I said good day, sir!"

But: to those of you, in the virtual and real world, who do what you're supposed to do, who get up in the morning and do your best every single day, who chop down the branches and bury the birds, I say, "You are outstanding, and I adore you."

Take a bow.

And if you're allergic to carrots, I'll find a cookie for you.

Postscript: Ran four dungeons with Lupe's new talent tree this morning, and *she* did great. Smooth as silk, baby. Smooth as silk.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

This feeling won't go away. When it comes to tanking a dungeon, I have begun to dread it like a trip to the dentist or hearing another bad pun on How It's Made. This has been going on for weeks. Luperci is always the last one to get valor points, achievements, or the slice of pizza. And she doesn't like pepperoni.

So, what's a tank to do?

I have a weird extra job on top of my normal job. The ones who decided I should have this role have never put my job description down in writing, which has been beneficial for all parties involved, but does tend to obfuscate directives. In other words, it's tough to tell my bosses something is, point of fact, not my job when it's not written down. Very nebulous.

Now, I'm pretty sure my job as tank is as follows:

1. Hold bad stuff in place

2. Don't let others take aggro, and ergo, keep them alive

3. Move stuff so others can get to it fast and easily.

But, something is off. Even if I put it all down like that, if a comment is made on what I should or should not be doing as a tank gets a lot of misinformation. Hunters won't misdirect, and shadow priests mind-flay me, healers are cross or overly apologetic. My job is being defined on the fly by those who don't think I'm doing an adequate job. That's my job. And it's a tough job.

Maybe it's time for my 10,000 mile tank tune-up: I haven't looked at my talent trees since the beginning of Cataclysm, and Ask Mr. Robot only does so much. Now, Lupe looks great, but pretty but dumb girls don't get asked out on a third date. (Second, yes, but not third.)

Is it just me, or is anyone else a little sad that the talent tree system is changing to be easier? Maybe I'm just a dork, but I kind of like reading the talents, and trying something new.

If anyone has any protection paladin advice for Senorita Lupe, please: what I really want is a trainer who MOVES and coaches me. Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker has been hanging out in the transept for too long. (Wouldn't that be cool? A virtual coach to walk you through an encounter?)

*Watching the barber pole making one now: those jobs have really been shaved down.

A hiatus was in order. Her tail was tired of rocks, and the
burnt food had lost its charm. The little cottage was just kitty-corner of the
logging camp. The Marshall showed her the way in, and hoped she wouldn’t mind a
few boarders staying on the first floor. Her domain would be the upper. The
human world of wood and planed surfaces suited her now. Square walls, bedposts
of four, and cornered fires; no moving lines or snaking structures. Letters and
numbers blocked, not mysterious runes, and the organic order bowed to new lengths
and widths, fixed, not broken.

The addon Mogit. I'm telling you it's like a dressing room. After I find the perfect outfit I print screen then crop to take off the excess. I do that for both male and female. Then I put the pictuces in TextEdit and print screen that so they are right next to eachother. Lastly, I crop off the excess for that picture and we are done!

Today's focus was the hunter-gatherer hardmode of me being a full-out female: yes, I went "shopping" all damn day. The benefit of having two accounts is I took Mataoka on one account, and used Ceniza from the other, and we did it all, baby. From Target to Nordstrom, those two went everywhere, and found some great deals. The mail gear and axes didn't drop for shaman girl, but Ceniza got some great things, and reached level 70.

Ceniza in her Vestements...but damn, those man-hands...

Trying it on with Mog-it

Need different shoulders and staff enchant...

Mog-It strips you down - cool fist weapon

Between Atlasloot and Mog-It, I had a lot of fun all day long. Yes, laundry got done, trash out, and some dishes washed (dishwasher is toast, the mechanical one), but other than that just did this silliness.

So, Ceniza just leveled to 69. This is the area where she can start the quests in Northrend, and has already been poking around the crystalline trees that crackle under the floating city. These quests in Northrend have been reduced by about 30% in order to get players to where the 'good stuff' is. But you know, I think I'm going to take my time with Ceniza. She is all kinds of fun, and the areas and Night Elf/Tauren villages in Blade's Edge are charming and warm. So what if she has to knock a few ogres off their chubby toes? She has kept her hearth in a little town there, and when she reaches level 71 and learns the port to Dalaran, she will have no issue with keeping it there. For now, she'll stay a night or two in Dalaran; it's quiet enough.